


asymptote

by luftballons99



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bones is So Done, Eating Disorders, Eventual Fluff, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, LET'S FIND OUT, M/M, Past Spock/Nyota Uhura, Romance, how many times can i use the word "space" in one fic, poor guy, takes place after beyond, working through my feelings by projecting on spock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-08-08 18:34:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7768693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luftballons99/pseuds/luftballons99
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock only deserves so much, and Jim is everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	asymptote

There is only so much space Spock will allow himself to occupy. Enough for his hands clasped behind a straightened spine, chest expanded temporarily when he gives orders or offers his captain a piece of appreciated - though often disregarded - advice, but never more.

Even as a child, he had always felt - _thought_ , for Vulcans are thinkers, not poets - his limbs too long for the rest of him, feet too clumsy to do anything but stand still. To infringe on anyone else’s space with the burden of his presence was something he could not bring himself to do, even now, no matter how much his fingertips itch for contact and his skin freezes over when his captain retracts his hand after a friendly clap on the shoulder.

Nyota had been a miracle, coaxing Spock out of his self-imposed isolation with soft hands on his jaw and promises that he deserved this and more. But when her hands would slip away, Spock did not think to anchor them in his again.

 

* * *

 

Jim’s touch is different from Nyota’s.

The tips of her fingers are rose-petal soft, skin cool and unmarred. Her touch is delicate but sure. Spock remembers finding it comforting. He probably still would. But it is not Nyota’s touch he finds himself longing for.

Spock’s familiarity with the captain’s hands should be more limited than what he knows of Nyota’s, and yet he is sure that he would know them blind: not quite soft, but warm and steady, instruments to show his crew just how much he cares with a high-five or a simple touch on the shoulder. Spock grows warm thinking of either.

Jim seems to have no problem exploring the uncharted space between him and Spock, or anyone else. Proximity to Jim feels natural. When Jim grabs Spock's arm, or places a hand on his back, or leans against him just enough for Spock to feel his weight, it is like coming home. As if, in the inconceivable vastness of space, _this_ is where Spock belongs; the small area surrounding his captain. He knows the other crewmembers feel the same.

Jim is dazzling. Years of living among the stars and to Spock, he shines the brightest.

He is everything, and Spock only deserves so much.

 

* * *

 

There is only so much space Spock will allow himself to occupy, and that space does not encompass his captain. Spock might get closer to Jim than he does anyone else, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from him or smell the generic shampoo in his hair or count his ashy blond eyelashes, but he will always leave a few vast inches of uncharted space between them, and even that seems too little and too much.

Jim seems to have other plans.

It is not unusual for members of the crew to partake in the consumption of alcohol while off-duty - Chekov and Scotty make sure of that. They get the drinks, Jim and Mr. Sulu bring people to drink them, and Dr. McCoy begrudgingly provides medical assistance to anyone who overestimates their tolerance level, while drinking himself.

Spock usually stays away from such festivities. As a half-Vulcan, alcohol has no effect on him, and even if it did, he has no desire to deliberately impair his brain-activity or to watch others do the same. He usually resigns himself to his quarters, meditating or completing any work that needs to be done before his next shift.

Tonight, he sits quietly beside his bed, taking deep, steadying breaths, trying to expel the memory of warm hands at his elbow from earlier that day. This only results in him committing every crease in the skin of Jim’s palm, every callused knuckle, every delicate bone, to his memory, the images branding his mind.

A knock at his door breaks his concentration.

He can hear malcontented grumbling from just outside his quarters and knows it can be none other than Leonard McCoy.

Rising to his feet, Spock adjusts his black regulation undershirt, smoothing out every wrinkle. He presses the button by his door, which then hisses open, revealing, as Spock had guessed, Dr. McCoy and surprisingly, Jim Kirk.

Both are unsteady on their feet, leaning on each other for support, arms around each other’s shoulders, bodies pressed together from waist to ankle. Spock feels a twinge of something he cannot identify and reminds himself to breathe.

“Spock,” Leonard pants before the Vulcan gets the chance to speak, “for the love of _god_ , please take him.”

Spock’s eyes widen by a fraction, his body going rigid. His hands find each other behind his back.

“He won’t tell me the code to get into his quarters and keeps asking for you,” Leonard explains gruffly, steadying Jim with a hand on his waist when he begins to slip out of the doctor’s grasp. “Sorry, but I’m too drunk to keep dealing with him.”

Both of Spock’s eyebrows raise in mild alarm when Leonard shoves Jim into his chest, making him stumble backward. He keeps his hands neutrally under the captain’s arms to make sure the man doesn’t fall. Leonard rolls his head from side to side and exhales drowsily, bones cracking. He sways and his eyes are glassy, but he is nowhere near as intoxicated as Jim, who Spock can feel drooling a wet spot into his shirt.

(He can feel everything; the sweat under Jim’s arms, the blunted tips of his hair tickling Spock’s chin. He is hyper-aware of every point where their bodies make contact, of the cold sweat gathering at his brow, of his tingling fingertips, the hair standing up at the back of his neck. Every fiber of his being is reminding him _this is wrong, this is inappropriate, get away from him, run, run, run_ , but the tips of his feet are pressed against Jim’s and he cannot escape.)

Leonard looks at him with something resembling pity as he says “Have fun babysitting,” before running a hand through his hair as he makes his way down the corridor, his center of gravity seemingly shifting precariously with every step he takes. The door to Spock’s quarters swishes shut, just narrowly missing Jim’s foot. Spock remains frozen in place.

Jim’s hands scramble at Spock’s shoulders, steadying himself so he can stand upright. Spock looks into his glazed blue eyes with his sharp eyebrows creased in distress.

Jim is the first to break the silence, grinning with a “ _Hello_ , beautiful.”

Spock, who had opened his mouth to speak, closes it again immediately. Jim remains unfazed.

“Fancy meeting you here,” the captain continues, sweaty palms now on Spock’s upper arms. The Vulcan keeps his hands safely at his sides, not letting himself enjoy the feeling of Jim’s.

“A curious statement, seeing as these are my quarters,” Spock points out after clearing his throat. His head is spinning, despite the fact that he is the only sober one in the room. It is hard for him to breathe and he is cold to the pointed tips of his ears - guilt. _You should not touch him._

Jim very visibly rolls his eyes, still smiling sunnily despite his inebriation. His hands squeeze Spock’s arms and the Vulcan feels faint.

“Captain -,” Spock starts, swallowing. He meets Jim’s unamused eyes and starts again. “ _Jim_ , perhaps medbay -”

Jim laughs. “Oh _Spock_ , I’m _fine_ , just a little,” the captain pauses, smile burning down to embers as he tips forward, one hand trailing down Spock’s arm, “ _lonely…_ ”

Spock’s breath catches in his throat, heartbeat escalating, every illogical thought he’s ever had (and he has had many, contrary to popular to belief - and a substantial amount of them revolve around Jim) resurfacing in his mind to meet the new ones that are forming now, as the nerves in his palm burst to life at the feeling of Jim’s fingertips.

“ _Jim_ ,” he says urgently, but he does not know how to continue, does not know what else to say - only what he wants to say: that Jim is smashing all the barriers that Spock had carefully erected for the captain’s sake, that Jim is violating uncharted space without thinking to consult a starmap first.

Jim’s palm is flat against the commander’s when he says “Hey, Spock?” just above a whisper.

Spock’s lips are pressed into a thin line; he does not answer.

Jim continues, unaffected. “How do Vulcans kiss again?”

Spock stills completely when Jim lifts their linked hands to chest-level and examines them curiously. His face is every bit as breathtaking in the low light as it is during synthetic day on the _Enterprise_ , eyes glittering, pink lips full. He is handsome as ever, though flushed and disheveled. Spock looks away.

“Was it…” Jim trails off, one hand at Spock’s wrist, the other curling against the half-Vulcan’s, making a fist with his index and middle fingers outstretched and glued together, using them to draw a line up Spock’s palm.

Spock’s fingers are coaxed into the same position as Jim’s by a gentle hand. His skin burns wherever he is touched.

When their hands are mirror images of each other, Jim presses the pads of his two outstretched fingers to the base of Spock’s, dragging them upward.

Spock’s body goes hot. He can feel Jim’s bitter breath on his cheek, the sticky sweat on his fingers, searing a path up Spock’s own. He closes his eyes.

When their fingertips meet, Spock’s skin ignites and his body burns like a dying sun. It is the catalyst of something bigger, something unknown; it is leaping without looking. It is Jim and more.

“Does that,” Jim rasps, wetting his lips, blue eyes flickering between their fingers and Spock’s eyes, “feel good?”

_Yes, yes, yes, better than anything else in the universe -_

Spock’s fingers are trembling when he answers “You tell me.”

Jim is smirking now, a little dazed. “I’ll take that as a yes?”

Spock simply nods, examining the fractional distance between their feet. _Too close, too far._

Jim lets out a breathy laugh. “ _Wild_.”

 

* * *

 

Vulcan may be nothing but dust now, but his memories of it are still solid.

Most of them are heavy and cold in his mind, images of coming home with black eyes and bruised knuckles. He remembers all of it vividly.

He remembers being -

 

* * *

 

_“Spock?” his mother asked him from across the table, careful hands rested on its edge. “You’ve barely touched your food, sweetheart. Aren’t you hungry?”_

_Spock, fingers pressed tight against the wood of his chair, shoulders curved inward and nose tipped down, met his mother’s gaze from underneath soft black eyelashes and said: “It is illogical to consume more than what is strictly necessary, mother.”_

_To take more than you need to, more than you deserve; to be too much._

_(Spock would always be too much. Too human for Vulcans, too Vulcan for his mother. Perhaps it would be better to shrink until he became nothing.)_

_Amanda’s gaze melted, concern ebbing away to pity and sadness and love._

_“Oh, Spock,” she said. The merciless Vulcan sun filtered through the window and caught in her hair, shimmered in her wet human eyes. “Oh, Spock…”_

 

* * *

 

After the night they kiss, the distance between them grows endless as the inky black expanse of the universe.

 

* * *

 

“Spock,” Jim says casually rising from his seat on the bridge. The commander stands dutifully at his side, as always, but what used to be a respectful few feet of space between them has grown into a rift in the cosmos. Spock is avoiding him. They have always been two planets, always in each other’s orbit, never colliding, but now they are not even in the same star system. “Walk with me, I need a word.”

Spock nods. “Of course, captain,” he responds, following Jim into the turbolift. He can hear Sulu chuckling _Hey, Chekov, twenty bucks says they’re -_ just as the doors hiss shut.

Aside from the hum of the turbolift, there is palpable silence. Jim sighs and takes a step forward, pushing a button. The turbolift comes to a halt and Spock tightens his hands behind his back.

Jim breaks the silence first, running a hand through his hair, blue eyes wide in distress, saying: “I’m so _sorry_ ,” in a tone that Spock recognizes as regret.

The half-Vulcan goes cold. “For what?”

Jim laughs humorlessly, hands scrubbing over his face. “You _know_ what,” he groans.

Spock swallows, examining his shoes. “Affirmative,” he concedes.

“I - I was drunk,” Jim continues, though Spock is sure he’s already heard enough, “And I was just - I guess I was lonely or something, and what I did wasn’t fair to you, I know that, I wish I could take it back,” he rambles on desperately, flushed. His clear blue eyes burn into Spock’s retinas and make him have to contain a shudder. “But I want you to know that it wasn’t just - I didn’t mean for - “

Spock does not have to hear him say it. He gently raises a silencing hand. “Captain, please,” he interjects. “You needn’t worry. I am well aware what effects alcohol can have on humans and that your advances that night were not heartfelt. Let us put it behind us.”

And with that, Spock, not daring to look up at Jim’s face, presses the button to restart the turbolift and exits on the wrong floor.

 

* * *

 

“So what you’re saying is,” Leonard begins, elbows on his thighs, smiling in annoyance in a rather contradictory display of the complexities of human emotion, “you ran away.”

The doctor looks at Spock expectantly. The half-Vulcan’s jaw tightens.

“I executed a tactical retreat -” he tries, but Leonard is already shaking his head.

“So you and Jim hold hands once and now you’re avoiding him?” the doctor asks incredulously. “Even when he tries to talk to you about it?”

Spock bristles at that. “Doctor, what transpired was much more significant than simply ‘holding hands’,” he counters, then pauses to think. “Though it is apparent that Jim does not feel the same.”

Leonard scratches at his stubbly chin and leans back in his desk chair. “You mean he doesn’t know about the whole Vulcan hand-kissing thing?” he asks.

Spock almost sighs. “Not quite,” he says. “Jim knows that it was the Vulcan equivalent of a kiss. What is unclear is whether or not…” his voice tapers off. His eyes fixate on the wall behind Leonard’s head.

The doctor takes a deep breath. “Whether or not it meant something to him,” he supplies, voice low.

Spock nods. “Vulcans do not - physical contact is reserved for...for lovers, or family members. The captain and I are neither.”

Leonard raises an eyebrow. “Do you wanna be?” he asks. When Spock doesn’t answer, he presses on. “Lovers, I mean.”

The half-Vulcan tilts his head down. “It would be inappropriate,” he says quietly. “And judging by what he said in the turbolift, the captain has no interest in a romantic relationship with me.”

He can almost hear Leonard rolling his eyes. “ _Everything_ Jim does is inappropriate,” he assesses. “And maybe if you had let him finish, you’d know for sure! Look, Spock, he might be kind of a dumbass sometimes, but I’m willing to bet he knew exactly what he was doing that night. Drunk or not.”

Spock blinks. “You imply the captain harbors... romantic feelings for me.”

Leonard looks like he is about to rip his hair out. “Jesus Christ - _yes_!”

Spock opens his mouth to speak, but closes it again when he realizes he does not know what to say.

“It’s so obvious! And here I was thinkin’ you were _smart_ ,” Leonard exclaims, looking disgusted. “It’s embarrassing to watch. He’s _obsessed_ with you.”

Spock grits his teeth behind his lips, jaw tight. “You must be mistaken,” he reasons.

“No, seriously, there’s a betting pool,” Leonard insists, exasperated. “We’re all waiting to see who makes the first move. I guess I’m out fifty bucks; I was counting on you cutting the shit and going for it, but I guess I Jim beat you to the punch.”

Spock creases his brow. “There was no laceration of feces, nor was there violence - “

Leonard groans. “Dammit man, it’s a figure of speech!”

Spock feels heat rushing to the tips of his ears, eyelids fluttering in disbelief. “Be that as it may,” he goes on, voice cracking, “I do not -” _\- deserve -_ “ - think it would be wise to pursue a romantic relationship with the captain.”

There’s a familiar vein at the doctor’s temple that pops just then. “And why the hell not?” he demands.

“I believe my Vulcan upbringing would complicate...things…”  _And also..._

Leonard narrows his eyes. “But what about Uhura? You guys only broke up because you fell in love with Jim, not because you’re a Vulcan, right?”

Spock freezes, eyes wide.

_In love -_

Leonard smirks. “Am I wrong?” he asks, daring Spock to correct him. “You and Uhura broke up because you wanted to leave starfleet, but now you’ve decided to stay after all. Not for her, and certainly not because you don’t care about preserving your culture. You stayed for Jim. If that ain’t love, I don’t know what is.”

Spock says nothing, staring at the doctor in silence.

Leonard sighs tiredly, rubbing the back of his neck and leaning forward. “You stayed in starfleet because you knew he’d be lost without you. Now you’re both here, so what are you waiting for? What’s stopping you?” Leonard looks deep into his eyes, demanding an answer.

Spock thinks about Jim, who is solar wind and discovery and trust and _beautiful_.

He looks pensively back at Leonard and says “There is only so much I deserve, doctor.”

 

* * *

 

“Spock. You’re - you’re my friend, dammit, and the best first officer in the fleet. This baseless inferiority complex of yours is just -”

“I am fine.”

“ _Spock_ …”

“I assure you, I am fine. I’ll be on my way now, doctor.”

“If you say so… Hey, wait.”

“Leonard?”

“Take this. You look like you’ve lost weight.”

 

* * *

 

The protein bar from Dr. McCoy remains uneaten on Spock’s desk.

 

* * *

 

When Spock collapses on the bridge a few days later, he is ready to concede that there is a chance, however slight, that he is not fine.

It happens during alpha shift. Spock is nursing a throbbing migraine, squinting through the bright florescent lights on the bridge. Jim is in the captain’s chair, delegating and advising and making jokes if the situation allows for it.

The air on the _Enterprise_ has always felt cold to his Vulcan skin, but today, he feels sweat beading at the back of his neck, wetting his palms, trickling down his back. His stomach aches hollowly, his legs trembling with the effort it takes to stand. He licks his lips and lets his eyes flicker shut - _Just for a moment_ , he tells himself.

It is not until he feels a strong hand grab his elbow that he realizes he is falling.

 

* * *

 

“Jesus - Spock, what’s wrong?!” he hears Jim’s voice, feels it in his weak bones. “Oh god, you’re so pale…”

“I’m calling McCoy,” Uhura says reasonably, concern evident in her voice. “Captain, you should let me take him to sickbay -”

“No! No, I’ll...I’ll take him.”

When Jim lifts Spock off the floor and gathers him into his arms, the half-Vulcan takes up all the space there and more, drowning the captain in his non-cooperative limbs.

Jim gasps when he secures Spock’s arm around his shoulders. “Spock, why are you so _light_?” he asks, voice wavering quietly, and then all the voices on the bridge rise to a crescendo, converging on the same wavelength until it is all just noise and Spock cannot make sense of it.

The walk to sickbay seems an endless blur until finally, he feels himself being lowered onto a stiff mattress. Warm, shaking hands rub up and down his arms until one glides down to one of Spock’s and presses the pads of their fore and middle fingers together sweetly. Spock feels a burst of warmth before slipping into unconsciousness.

 

* * *

 

He dreams about shrinking until no one can see him.

 

* * *

 

He awakes to the sound of his own heart-monitor beeping. His eyes open slowly, crusty at the edges, and his eyebrows draw together instantly.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Dr. McCoy greets cheerfully as he strides into the room. “You look like shit.”

Spock raises a weak hand to his face and sighs shakily. “Your fascination with excrement will never cease to confuse me.”

“Ha-ha. I goddamn hate you.”

Spock ignores that, knowing it to be no more than the manifestation of Leonard’s off-brand kindness and concern. He turns his head, the sweaty back of his neck sticky against his pillow,  and becomes suddenly aware of where exactly he is. “Doctor -”

“You’re malnourished as hell,” Leonard informs him bluntly, rummaging through the drawer by Spock’s bed. “When’s the last time you had an actual meal, huh?” He drops a few nutrition tablets into the half-Vulcan's palm.

The past week has gone by in a haze. “I do not know,” Spock answers honestly, and immediately feels a hypo jab into the side of his neck. He grunts in alarm and confusion, narrowing his eyes at the doctor.

“That’s a vaccine against Andorian Shingles,” he explains, and somehow Spock is more confused than before. “You don’t really need it, but since you’re here I figured what the hell. Also: screw you.”

Spock rubs the side of his neck and purses his lips thoughtfully. “You are upset with me,” he deduces, and Leonard looks ready to choke him.

“ _Of course I am_! Dammit man, you said you were _fine_!” Dr. McCoy roars, throwing his hands up in the air. “Then all of a sudden I hear you’ve collapsed in the middle of the bridge? ‘Fine’ my _ass_ , Spock!”

Spock blinks and sits up in bed. Leonard shoves a cup of water at him and watches intently as Spock swallows his nutrition pills. the half-Vulcan bows his head. “I am sorry to have caused you trouble,” he says slowly, peeking up at Leonard.

“ _Caused me trou…_ Sweet Jesus, you still don’t get it?” the doctor asks in genuine shock and disbelief. Spock does not know what to make of that.

A short silence ensues, followed by a loud, indignant groan from Leonard, a sound that Spock has become intimately familiar with.

“I give up,” Dr. McCoy says, laughing painfully with his arms raised in surrender.

Spock raises an eyebrow just as the door to sickbay opens. He hears Jim before he sees him, frantic footsteps against the cold floor, until the captain appears in messy-haired glory. When his gem-like eyes meet Spock’s, his entire face lights up like a solar flare, pretty lips parting in a wide, relieved grin.

“You’re awake,” he laughs, voice hushed, and rushes over to Spock’s side, hands gesturing wildly mid-air, unsure of what to do with themselves. Jim’s thighs are pressed against the side of the bed, and Spock inches away from them. Jim falters, puzzled.

“I, uh,” Leonard remarks intelligently from somewhere behind Jim, somewhere Spock can’t see because Jim is flooding his senses, filtering out anyone and anything else in a haze of bright light. “I gotta, uh, take care of something. Somewhere else.”

The entrance to sickbay opens and shuts. Spock’s breath hitches in his throat.

Jim is the first to speak once again, always taking the initiative, always boldly _going_ when all Spock can do is stay still.

“I won’t ask,” Jim says after clearing his throat. “About uh, all this. Bones told me a little bit about it but. I won’t ask. Not right now.”

Spock exhales quietly in relief, some of the tension leaving him, releasing his aching muscles.

“But,” Jim continues, determined, hands balled into fists, “I wanted to let you know that I wasn’t finished. That time in the turbolift - I had more to say. More that I wanted to tell you.”

Spock curls his fingers into the sheets and nods, silently asking Jim to continue.

The captain takes a deep breath, closing his eyes. “The other night, when I - when we...kissed. That was… I mean, it wasn’t just because I was drunk.”

Spock stares. Jim hesitates before resting his hand gently on Spock’s shoulder.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he explains quietly. “But I guess I was just scared or worried that...that you wouldn’t.”

Spock wrinkles his brow, confused and raw. His hand circles Jim’s wrist just to be sure he’s real, that this is real, that the captain wants to share this space with him. Jim is warm and firm, a solid and welcome presence. The hopeful look on his face makes Spock _bleed_.

“How could I not?” Spock wonders, voice hushed and even despite the thundering of his heart. He feels so much at once that his body can barely accommodate him, condensing his rampant emotions into small pearls of salt water that sting his eyes; he is overflowing. He is falling apart - not inwardly, but out - chest swelling with every shaky breath he takes, his own skin not being able to hold him anymore. His very being is bleeding out into the room, into space that he does not deserve to occupy.

Jim looks surprised ( _Why?_ Does he not know that he is everything?), pretty eyes blinking, offering butterfly-kisses to the air. He reaches for Spock’s cheek, the flat of his thumb absorbing the wet streak there, and that does it, that is what makes the half-Vulcan _break_.

He chokes back his sobs, voice and tears and the humidity of his flushed cheeks filling the room to the brim, and there Jim is, making space for him; inviting him into his orbit with welcoming arms around his shoulders.

 

* * *

 

“ _Eat_ ,” Jim almost demands, climbing into Spock’s lap and pressing a protein bar into his cheek. “Stop working. _Eat._ Pay attention to me.” He shoves Spock’s PADD into the far corner of his desk.

Spock instinctively wraps his arms around Jim to make sure he doesn’t slip away. He allows himself to lean in close and rest his cheek against the captain’s chest.

“I am always paying attention to you.” Spock pauses for a moment, focusing on the way Jim’s chest inflates, his heartbeat just a little bit faster. “Inconvenient as it is,” he adds fondly.

Jim gasps as if offended, but his solid arms curl around Spock’s neck and his nose nuzzles the top of his inky hair.

“Psh, you love me,” Jim hushes him.

Spock feels green heat numbing the tips of his ears. “Affirmative,” he says simply, muffled by the fabric of Jim’s shirt.

Jim smiles mischievously into Spock’s hair before pulling back and lifting Spock’s chin so that their eyes meet. “Hm? Sorry, didn’t quite catch that.”

Spock, unconvinced, narrows his eyes. “Your tone suggests that you are lying,” he remarks.

Jim is clearly trying to force away a smile when he responds: “Who, me? _Never_.”

“Were I fully human,” Spock deadpans, “I imagine that I would be rolling my eyes at this moment.”

That makes Jim laugh, _really_ laugh, beautiful and unguarded and _loud_. Despite spending most of his life on Vulcan, Spock needs to fight a smile of his own. Jim’s laugh is famously contagious. He pulls Jim close, their lips pressing together, and drinks in his captain’s muffled giggles. His fingers find Jim’s, already in position to give Spock a Vulcan kiss.

Jim is still giggling when they part, forehead resting against Spock’s, eyes shut peacefully.

“You look better now,” Jim decides. “Not as skinny. I like you better this way.” He pokes Spock in the side, making him flinch and grunt quietly.

“I am gratified that you find my physical appearance pleasing,” he says neutrally.

Jim hums. “Yeah, but it’s not just that,” he says. “You just seem healthier now, you know? And happy.”

Spock pauses thoughtfully for a moment before leaning forward and kissing Jim’s cheek. “The latter is entirely thanks to you.”

“Is that so?”

“It is so.”

“You make me happy too,” Jim informs brightly. “Me and the rest of the crew - we like having you around. So keep taking care of yourself. Don’t scare us again like last time.”

Spock nods, but Jim isn’t finished.

“And I want you to finally realize how awesome you are! Because honestly? It’s about damn time.”

Neither of them are expecting it, but Spock, completely involuntarily, lets out a short puff of breath that just barely qualifies as a laugh. Both men pause. Spock clears his throat, not knowing what came over him. He closes his eyes.

“Is that an order, captain?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

Jim blinks before grinning widely and ruffling Spock’s previously neat black hair. “Yeah, you know what? That’s an order.”

Spock almost shrugs. “Then it seems I have no choice but to obey,” he relents.

Jim laughs again. It rings in Spock’s ears. “Obey _this_ ,” the captain says, lurching forward into Spock with so much force that the chair tips back and they both land gracelessly on the floor with a loud clatter.

 

* * *

 

Later, Spock throws out the empty protein bar wrapper and joins Jim in bed, tangling their limbs and relaxing when he notices the slim stretch of mattress between them has almost disappeared. It is a start.

 

**Author's Note:**

> woohooooo i finally finished this thing!! Writing is hard. But this is really important to me and i got it all out!! good job, me.
> 
> anyway, cry with me about spirk @spockioli.tumblr.com


End file.
